- Bye Anacreon.

And it was like that. No more, no less. Just gone.

Sure, it wasn't the first nor the last time and, even now, as I weep in a corner inside my closet, I remember each tiny detail of our lives and existence, trying to convince myself that it was worthy at last. When started this, I ask myself, when and why I started to suffer like damned dog and to love this kind of deep and ingenuous type of love, which end up seeming to be light and shallow and falsely degrades into an infinite well of apparent calmness and unconcern. Almost thirty years drinking and smoking and, for some reason, I still wasn't dead.